The rain had stopped by the time Cassian's relatives arrived. He was curled up against a cold brick wall, soaked from his clothes to the bones from the wind in his face. Neither asked how long he had been there nor how he was doing.
Instead, the questions sprang about his parents: what had been going on, why they did it, if there were any premonitions of this early sign before anything was too late. Cassian sat silent, his body numb to the point where he couldn't determine anymore whether it was biting cold or merely the icy distance that chilled him more.
A week passed in a daze of unfamiliar faces and antiseptic rooms. He was passed from one relative to another like an afterthought, nobody wanting to meet his gaze. There were whispers about how his father hadn't been man enough and how his mother had gone mad. The discussions were over debts, shame, and the stain he bore on the family's good name.
No one spoke about what would happen to him.
At his uncle's house, they failed to even look his way. His cousins would whisper as if he were a ghost who had entered their home. His aunt barely had anything more than a word to say; always too busy or too distracted. Things were worst at his grandparents' house. They claimed not to have enough space. They could not feed another mouth.
One by one, they found reasons—explanations why they couldn't take him in.
It had been a damp, gray day when the social worker came to take him away. Low gray clouds cast a pall over the city, and Cassian sat quietly in the back of the car and gazed out at the gray world beyond the window. He'd lost count of how often he'd been told it wasn't personal. His parents had died, leaving him as a burden no one wanted, an inconvenience none of his relatives had expected.
A great structure loomed in front of them: massive, tapering from a broad base to a pointed top, its windows covered by bars like jailhouse bars, settling very deep in Cassian's chest like a stain. The social worker was an unguileless woman with tired eyes. She turned back his uneasy smile.
"This is just temporary," she said, though her voice did not have much conviction. "I know we'll find you a good family soon.".
Cassian didn't say a word. He learned much better now. There had been enough such empty promises, enough disappointment reflected in the eyes of his so-called family. They did not want him. They hadn't even fought for him to be their own. He was alone now—truly alone.
He entered across a cold, institutional threshold, an iron gate that groaned with rusty protesting hinges, and beyond it, children's voices came faintly to his ears, and yet this did not sound like laughter but rather the indistinguishable mutterings of forgotten souls.
The matron by the door jerked her head towards him in greeting, lines of lost children etched into her face. "So this is the one," she said, speaking over the social worker's head to Cassian and then bending down to examine him. No love needed be returned in her gaze—only practiced indifference from one who had seen too many broken children come through her doors.
"Follow me," she said brusquely.
The door slammed shut behind him. Its weight felt like sealing his fate. The inside of the orphanage was no different from how he had found it outside: gray walls, cracked floors, and seeping cold into bones. The silence rang through with every step Cassian took. Every step reminded him he belonged neither to one nor to a place anymore.
He looks in the rooms they pass through: children sitting in little groups, sometimes staring at the wall, their faces blank, often speaking in undertones. No one looks up as he goes by.
They came finally to a small, sparsely furnished room at the far end of the hall. The matron opened the door, motioning for him to enter. "This will be your room," she said. "Dinner is at six. Don't be late.".
Inside, Cassian stood and looked at the worn bed, the scratched wooden desk, and the singular window that unveiled the grayness of the sky outside. This was not even a room but a cell. He wasn't even certain if he deserved better. The door closed softly behind him as he stood there, alone in the silence and chill.
He sat on the bed, peering out the window. His mind was thrown back to his parents, unanswered questions, an empty space they occupied. No, he was alone now. Blood had abandoned him, casting him away as though he were nothing.